(But to find you) I will cross the universe
by typographicalmisfit
Summary: Summary: Clarks enters a world where people kill each other for a throne, where winter lasts a lifetime, and where dragons are real. This is a (very) slow burn Clexa in Game of Thrones universe. Inspired by Robert Bengtsson's "Cross the Universe". AU - Canon Divergence Season 3 finale (The 100) Season 5 onward (GOT) First person POV Un-beta'ed Rated M for language
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer** : All characters and places related to The 100 and Game of Thrones mentioned herein belong to their respective owners.

* * *

 **Prologue**

Blood.

I can smell blood. Is it mine? I bet it is. I can barely feel my body. My head feels so light it seems floating in the air, back up in the sky where I come from. Maybe this is what dying feels like. I am slowly ascending... or am I being flushed out of Earth? Perhaps that's it. Space is pulling me out of this world. I belong out there, wherever people who were sentenced to float go. Like my dad. Maybe I will find him. Maybe he will find me. I don't know. I know nothing about dying.

The dead no longer have their senses, right? What am I thinking. Of course dead people no longer have senses. They cannot, for instance, taste the blood that drips down their nose. They cannot feel how sticky it can be. They cannot see how dark it has become. They cannot hear the whispers. They cannot recognize familiarity, like the voice that used to pronounce your name unlike any other.

 _I will always be with you._

A pang in my head returns a memory. The last thing I remember was seeing my mom—her face painted with anxiety. I was supposed to do something big... to stop ALLIE from attempting to destroy the human race once more. In order to do that I had to enter the City of Lights and find the switch, terminating that chaotic piece of invention.

I remember being there, in the perfect world called City of Lights. Its majestic horizon filled with buildings and skyscrapers made of metal and glass. The concrete floor extends as far as I could see. Things that I have only seen in files or read in books exists in that very place, the past and their future combined. People walked around in their neat and unscathed clothes, almost shining if you look closely. They move in sync like animated corpses—monotonous, apathetic, insensible. But such perfection lacked one thing... something that we learned about when we landed on Earth: life.

And yet, there in the miserably perfect world ALLIE created, I found the only piece that could ever complete me.

Gracious in combat, she swung her swords as if she was merely dancing in the wind. A confident smug curved on her lips as she looked over her shoulders toward my direction. There was no evidence of death in her, even though she died in my arms. Her green eyes held my breathing. Her soft touch burned my skin. Her lips melted my whole being. I could have died right then and there, and still be blissful in the next life.

But we were cursed by our abilities.

Our reunion had to be cut short—a bittersweet ending. As much as I want time to stop at the very moment I have her in my arms, I cannot. I had a mission, one that would decide the future of mankind. It was beyond myself. In the end, I had the remaining pieces of my heart shattered into into dust. One last goodbye.

I still had a clear view of Earth from where I stood. ALLIE whispering apocalypse in my ear and Becca speaking of hope in another. But one thing was certain. When I entered the City of Lights, the two programs combined.

I, Clarke Griffin, was in control.

And then I am not.

At first, there is light. Then there is nothing. My mind is blank and my body is nowhere. I seem to free fall, only in all directions. I am anything but in control. Until pain slowly slips through, tear trails down my face, and her voice—God, I can hear her voice.

 _Do not falter, Clarke. The spirit of the Commander is with you._

She is close—too close, in fact. "Lexa?"

 _Follow your heart and you will not stray._

It feels weird feeling her presence within me, yet there is comfort in it. "I don't... What is happening?"

 _May we meet again._

"Wait—Lexa!"

Nothing.

Her voice is gone but my pain remains. I can finally feel my body and the pavement where I lay. And on cue, the rest of my senses return. I hear foreign words from unfamiliar voices. I smell salt in the air. What is worse, however, is opening my eyes for the first time since—Ark knows how long—and recognizing absolutely none of what I see.

I have the spirit of the Commander with me and right now, I certainly know nothing.

* * *

 **A/N** : So, here I am, writing another fiction when I probably shouldn't. Unfortunately for my previous story, "It's not over yet", episode six of season three happened and I lost all motivation to write further. It was beyond devastating yet I know I should not make that an excuse for my shortcomings. In any case, I hope you enjoy this story I came up with as I binge watched Game of Thrones.

It is written in first person POV for two reasons: first, I am comfortable with it, and second, it's how I think I will manage writing anything related to GOT (since I am not prolific in their way of speaking).

( **Possible spoilers below** ; don't want, don't read and skip to the end.)

Now, about the story:

It starts at the finale of The 100 season 3, specifically at the part where Clarke finally meets Becca. Will there be other The 100 pairing/s, I guess we shall see. Believe me when I say I do love Raven, Octavia and Lincoln though—especially Raven.

It will be in around season 5 of Game of Thrones; during Tommen I's reign and Daenery's eastern conquest. There will be mentions of GOT side pairings such as Sansaery and Daenarya (maybe will try to integrate suggested pairings, too). I cannot promise heavy interactions though, due to my limited GOT writing capabilities (also I haven't read ASOIAF). So I ask for forgiveness in advance in case—which is likely—I make GOT/ASOIAF mistakes.

( **Possible spoilers end** )

For readers unfamiliar with GOT, I will do my best to explain stuff about their universe as the story progresses.

I will tag more characters/pairings as soon as then appear in the story.

I'm **typographicalmisfit** at Tumblr if you wanna say anything.

Thank you!

P.S. The first chapter will be posted exactly 24 hours after this. However, that is an irregularity. Normal updates will take way longer than that. And if I am to stop updating, I will let you know soon.


	2. Ch1 - Clarke I

**Disclaimer** : All characters and places related to The 100 and Game of Thrones mentioned herein belong to their respective owners.

* * *

 **Clarke - I**

 _"Lexa!"_

I stare blankly at the brick wall, my chest weaving heavily. It always happen before the break of dawn. I dream of myself space walking, following Lexa's voice, and reaching out for her even if she is nowhere to be seen. By the time I run out of breath, I wake up screaming her name. This is the twenty seventh time it happened—that's since the day I woke up in the busy trade alley of Myr. And for the twenty seventh time, I get out of my makeshift bed before sunrise.

The first time I wandered around the city, not many paid attention to me. The trade alley was packed with merchants and their slaves, foreign traders and possibly pirates. There were barrels of wine, carpets and blankets, mirrors and lenses. People were speaking in a language closest to _Trigedasleng_ , only far more difficult. I must have walked three or four blocks before they realize that I was foreign. The way I was not dressed for the weather or their culture, the way I looked around like a lost puppy which I was. Simply put, I did not fit. When I finally had the attention of most alley goers, I panicked. I run as fast and as far possible. At the end of my escape, I met a boy, probably five or six years younger than me, stacking crates in front of a brick building—that same boy whom I would be thanking for the rest of my days here in the city.

Taga, the old man who accepted me in his shabby household, speaks something in bastard Valyrian—their language—from behind. I glance at his stern face and politely nod. He scoffs and goes on his morning routine. Taga owns a small stall at the trade alley. Back in the day, he used to make those expensive carpets they sell to noblemen in all seven kingdoms. When he lost his wife to a sickness, he used up everything he got for both wine and women. His business went in a rot and all that remained were his untidy house up in the hills and young apprentice named Jehari. As usual, Taga yells to wake the boy up.

Every morning, Jehari would roam around mercantile area five blocks down the hill from where Taga's house is. He scavenges scrap materials such as cotton and linen, and brings it to Taga in hope of making something out of it. With enough luck, he can create a small carpet worth roughly three days of food for the two of them.

"You wake up too early, it's costing me sleep." Jehari says in between yawns.

I glance at him. "I'm sorry. I'm trying my best to control my nightmares."

He stretches his arms out before pulling an old worn-out cart. "And old man is preparing the best ale as we speak." He scoffs. This boy sure knows how to ride with my sarcasm. "I do not know where you came from, _Kalark_. But here, we cannot control nightmares. That's a whole different religion. Are you certain you are not a priestess?"

I smile and shake my head as I follow him out into the street.

A priestess, a bastard, a princess, a queen—those are some of the names they call me. It's funny how I am hoping someone would yell 'Wanheda' out of the blue. At least I know someone actually knows me. By then I might start getting answers to my questions.

If only.

* * *

 **Day 28**

Some days, I help Jehari out with his errands. It works fine for me since I get to see the rest of the city. I learn bits of this and that, of who and what, of when and where. For example, Myr is a free city whose main trades are carpets, laces and lenses. They have this oblique silver coin for currency. There are many gods and each of them have their own temple and shrines around. And one last thing: slavery. Not only is it common, it is also legal in this place—as is in other cities.

When I am not out in the streets, I make patterns for Taga. I illustrate carpet patterns I remember from Polis. Each of them receives a surprising affirmative scoff from the old man. As much as I want to learn their language to communicate with him, it is immensely difficult. Bastard Valyrian, they call it. A variation of High Valyrian from ancient Valyria. It's funny how I enjoy their history. Everything is new for me and most of the times they don't make any sense. It makes me feel like I am just in an alternate world and any minute, Raven will show me the way out of it. If only things are that easy. I would be grateful to anyone who will wake me in this long dream I am having.

Jehair places half-full crate down. "Your creation is quite different from what Old man always do. In fact, it is different than most. Where do you get the idea?"

I need not to look up from the parchment I am working on to answer the boy. "From the books I have read and videos I have seen."

" _Videyo_?" He tries to repeat the word.

This time I look up to him. "Video. It's a recording of, for example the past. You watch moving visual images that was recorded."

His eyes widens and his mouth partly open. "Y-you mean, you are a _greenseer_?"

"A what?"

"Someone who can see the past, the present and the future! That is a rare ability, _Kalark_. I didn't know you have magic in your blood!"

"Woah—wait. No, that is not what I meant. I am not a seer or fortuneteller. There is no magic or whatever in my blood, okay? Anyone can watch a video, it's not really a talent."

The boy looks at me confusedly. "But there is no such thing, _Kalark_. Not in Westeros and certainly not in Essos."

Perhaps there is no point in arguing about this. Apparently, technology here is behind by... I don't know, a lifetime? And it's not their fault. It's either I traveled back into medieval times or I entered a different dimension parallel to ours. Oh, Ark. Why is this happening to me?

"Let's just agree to disagree." I suggest.

The young apprentice sighs in defeat. "Fine," His disappointment turns into sadness. "But you know, wherever it is you came from, that seemed to be a magical place. Every story you tell has something that I have never heard of. Maybe you are from the future."

"You're twelve, Jehari. You can't possibly know everything in this world yet anyway." And that is true. Who knows, Polis might just be in a land beyond Westeros. A smile creeps on my face. Maybe I am from the future.

"Whatever." He shrugs. "Wait, you did say you are able to paint, right _Kalark_? I found this in Moreak alley." He pulls out an old hardened brush from the crate. "I fail to find any inks they use with those. There are some writing ink around though. You should still be able to make something out of it, right?"

I take the brush from him and somehow, it reminds me of who I was, of what I used to do. Those landscapes of Earth and portraits of...

"Yes," I smile weakly at him. "I can work something out. Thank you, Jehari."

He looks over his shoulder but says nothing more.

As night comes, I pick up the newly softened brush. With a partly crumpled parchment and leftover writing ink, I delve into my fondest memories and let my hand translate what my heart desires.

* * *

 **Day 29**

"Where did you come from, _Kalark_?"

Jehari asks without looking. He is staring right up as he lay down on the grass at the top of Old Man's hill, as we call it. I sit not far from him, watching the moon's reflection upon the sea.

"Aren't you bored of that story yet?" I have to return the question because it's the same story I tell him almost every night.

"Tell me anyway. Your life story is the only entertainment I have these days."

And I believe him. Being an apprentice to a grumpy old mercantile is the closest he has to education. Unlike other children of his own age, he has responsibilities and he has no better choice than to fulfill it.

"Why don't you tell me how you met Taga instead? That would be a nice change, don't you think?"

A sigh. "It's not as interesting as yours."

"I beg to differ. I told you how I lived in space, every night; how we were sent down to the ground as punishment. I am very much interested in your story, believe me."

Silence.

"My parents sold me to old man Taga when I was nine. He used to be nicer when he still had his wife. Calls me his apprentice when, truly, I am only his slave." Jehari sits up. "You wanted to hear my story? There you have it. Mind you, the same goes for half of the kids here—except for the apprentice part."

"But you? You are special... or a great liar. Either way, it is entertaining for me."

I never really considered that, to be honest. I have been here for quite a while and yet I stay as naive as I was when I first found myself lost in this place.

"I'm sorry." I whisper.

Jehari shakes his head. "Yeah, I am, too."

"Here," I pull out a parchment and hand it to him. "I made it last night."

There are many things I have done and I am not proud of. But art? I know that is my strong point. My companion's reaction is just another confirmation of that. He glance at me then back to the parchment I handed him.

"This is..." His fingers run over the image, his eyes glimmer in what seems to be amazement. "This is beautiful, _Kalark_. Is this… _her_?"

A lump in my throat makes it difficult to speak further. The water in my eyes make it hard to see. A weight in my chest makes it hard to breath.

"She is a beautiful muse."

"You remember her face well." He says, a compassionate smile on his face.

I would say that is an understatement. Her face. Her voice. Her smell. Her touch. Her taste. I remember her vividly.

A tear falls as I nod slightly. "She is everything I see... when I think of home."

* * *

 **Day 31**

There is a rumor of a queen conquering cities along Slaver's Bay, I hear the merchant gossip in trade alley. They call her 'Mother of Dragons', the 'Unburnt', and 'Breaker of Chains'. Some say she will free the remaining slaves here in Essos, while others claim she will sail to Westeros, wherever that is, to conquer the rest of the world.

I pretend not to care. Yet inside, I am partly laughing.

I was born in space. I was sent to Earth on board a drop ship. I killed hundreds and hundreds of people. I entered the perfect City of Lights through a microchip. And now, I am in a place where dragons rule the world. If I am to write my life's journey, it would be a bestseller. There would be movie adaptations and television shows about it. I would be an instant millionaire.

Not that I desire any material thing of value.

There is nothing more I want than to go home. Unfortunately, I cannot do that without knowing where that is—where _she_ is. I have to be here, where people kill each other for a throne, where winter lasts a lifetime, where dragons do exist... or so they say.

"What is it?" Jehari asks as he returns the old cart back to its place. "You have your forehead creased like that, it means you are thinking deep."

I smile. "Do you believe in dragons?"

"Yes," He answers almost immediately. "But the last dragon died over a hundred of years ago."

Wait, what?!

Astounded by his revelation, I gawk at Jehari. That cannot be true. Dragons only exist in fairy tales and myths. Surely, this city has one or two of those to tell their children I bet.

"You don't believe me." He glares at me. "Well, people talk about the Mother of Dragons these days. They said she walked in the flames and when the fire died out, she gave birth to three dragons." His eyes glimmer as he narrates the story. "Not one, but three dragons!"

It sounds much like a fairy tale to me. I don't blame Jehari. He is a child after all.

"You think I made that story up, don't you?"

I try to minimize my skepticism. "People talk about the 'Lord of Light' as well. There's also the 'Many-face God', the 'Seven' and what else..."

"Okay, I get it. You are not a believer. But this is not a religion, _Kalark_."

"Fine," I say as I lift my hand in surrender. "It's just... where I came from, there are no dragons."

"Yes, only ship that sails up the sky and stay there for years. I understand why."

"No, no. They are totally different. Dragons are mythical creatures while _spaceships_ are technological inventions. There is science behind the latter, it can be explained."

He sighs. "You are so smart, you give me head pain. Maybe one day you will see a dragon for yourself, until then no more questions about it."

"Okay, I'm sorry." I tap my fingers on a parchment involuntarily. "So how come that 'mother' didn't burn when she walked into the flames?"

A piercing look from the young apprentice is my answer.

* * *

 **Day 33**

The first time I found myself here in Myr, I was a complete stranger. My sole existence screamed for attention. Well, now I can confidently say I learned how to blend in. I wear the same clothes they wear. A scarf hides my hair and my face just enough so people won't mind me at all. I do not speak but I listen very carefully and try to decipher a word or two of that bastard Valyrian they use.

Often I pass by the docks where they exchange gossips while trading goods. It is one of the places where the common tongue is used. Sometimes I end up walking all the way to the other side of the walled city of Myr where several temples stand. But one of my favorite places to visit would be the alley where a woman wearing crimson robe speaks of a certain 'Lord of Light'. She gestures toward the fire of a torch nearby and exclaims something in a different language. Some of the audience weep while others rage.

It is a fascinating site—and frightening at the same time.

Only when the priestess glances at my direction I realize how late it is. The sun has already set that is why the fire glows brightly. I turn away from the crowd and make my way back through the now torch-lighted streets.

"You have seen the _light_." A woman grabs my arm, halting me. I almost jump in surprise when I recognize who it is. "You've been in it, and escaped it."

I pull my arm and take a step back. "I-I don't know what you're talking about. I'm—"

Her brows crease as her eyes dart toward my arm. "There is darkness in you," She say contemplatively. "Yet you radiate. You hold a power unlike any other. Tell me, who are you?"

"No one, I-I am no one. Sorry, I have to—" I move away quickly, hoping to escape the woman as fast possible.

"From coal to fire, and fire to coal they turn." She exclaims from a distance. I look over my shoulder and confirm that she is still speaking of me. "A lion shall inhale smoke as its last hope; a dragon shall lay beside an unwelcoming forest; a snake shall grant the sky no venom but life; and _he_ will die by the hands of a freeman."

Her words make no sense yet each of them sends chill to my spine. What is that woman talking about? If she meant the City of Lights, then yes I have been there and I... I have no memory beyond that. Does that mean this is my escape? I can't remember making a decision.

Occupied by the priestess' words, I nearly run into a cart.

"Oi! Watch where yer goin' will ya?!" A man yells.

I want to say something—apologize, but my heart is pounding in my chest, so loud I can hear it in my ears. As far as I am concern, her words are just that— _words_. They don't mean anything so I should not be affected by it.

Should I?

* * *

 **Four weeks ago**

 _The boy takes a step back, a crate still in his hands. He does not move the whole time we are staring at each other. I am tired and confused so I decide to break the silence and ask him where we are. When he answers in a different language, I am sure I am doomed. I have been through this before, but at least I had companions back then. Today, the only thing that has my back is my jacket._

 _"You speak the common tongue." The boy says._

 _I almost gasp in both astonishment and relief. So they do speak English!_

 _"I... Yes. I don't know." I shrug at the thought. Common tongue? Exactly where in the world am I?_

 _"You are not from here."_

 _No, I am not. I think that is quite obvious now._

 _His eyes remain focused on mine. "This is the free city of Myr."_

 _Myr? I am no expert on Earth, I know. However, I am certain I haven't heard of this place yet—not from the Ark, not from the Mountain Men, and definitely not from the Grounders. My eyebrows crease and perhaps the boy takes that as an affirmation of my ignorance._

 _"You are in Essos, lady. Myr is one of the nine free cities of Essos."_

 _And that is the affirmation of my apparent doom._

 _"D-do you..." I am hesitant to ask but I need to take a chance at least. "Do you know the way to Polis?"_

 _He stares at me as if I am not making any sense then shakes his head. I nod in acknowledgement of his own cluelessness. Great. I am lost and Polis does not exists. Without another word, the boy picks up the remaining crate on the ground and heads uphill like nothing happened._

 _I may be mistaken. Essos could be just another country. The world is divided in several continents anyway. I remember seeing that myself when the Ark was still in space. Earth is too big to have just twelve clans. What I am seeing right now might be another part of it._

 _But why? Why am I here?_

 _"Is there anything else you need, lady?"_

 _I nearly trip over as the same boy halts. Briefly, we share the same questioning look before I realize I end up following him. "I... uh, I-I don't know where else to go." I confess._

 _He observes me for a couple of seconds. At this point my hands are crossed. I am aware that this child could be my saving grace or my nightmare. I hope for the former._

 _"Follow me." He says._

 _I release the breath I am holding. Oh, thank God. Now, I just need to hope that I am walking into safety and not the opposite. It would be an unbecoming of me should I trust him that easy. Nevertheless, my options are currently limited. I need my questions to be answered before I decide what to do next._

 _We walk further uphill, far from the busy market where I run away from. My newfound companion's silence is quite unsettling. I have to at least let him know I come in good terms._

 _"My name is Clarke."_

 _He does not turn yet I notice him look at me through his peripheral view._

 _"Kalark?" He tries. His accent naturally makes his pronunciation of my name differently._

 _"Close, but no. It's 'Clarke'."_

 _I wait for a 'that is a weird name for a lady' remark but I am disappointed. Perhaps that is not unusual in this place called Myr. Then I learn of the boy's name—Jehari, a twelve year old apprentice to a former craftsman living at the top of the hill. Upon seeing us, the old craftsman by the name of Taga yells something in a different language. Jehari runs to him, engaging in a conversation unintelligible for me. In the end, I am allowed to enter their shabby abode._

 _"That is old man Taga, my master. He no longer speak the common tongue quite well now." The boy explains as he tidy the small room. "I welcome you here on his behalf."_

 _"You have no idea how grateful I am." I thank him sincerely. "It must be difficult to let a complete stranger into your house just like that."_

 _"People often forget what kindness feels like." He replies. "We give, thus we receive."_

* * *

 **Day 34**

With thoughts of the priestess' words last night still bugging me, I decide to keep to myself the whole dinner. My two companions are busy talking—arguing something. It is typical for old man Taga to yell. But this time, something is different. As I look up from my half full bowl of soup, Old man stands and walks to his room without another word, leaving his meal unfinished.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

Jehari purses his lips. He stares contemplatively into his cup before glancing at me.

"I may have taken your art to trade alley for appraisal." He confesses. I raise both of my eyebrows, gesturing for him to continue. "The... the merchant gave me a really good p-price." The way he stutters, I assume he is expecting me to get mad or something.

"So, what is the problem?"

Jehari looks down on his bowl. "Old man... H-he is worried that... we might not get enough materials for another."

"That's it? I was worried old man is mad."

"Well, they don't really sell that kind, you see. You made a pretty picture but it was small and it was all black. They make huge images in different colors." He gestures with his hands, trying to describe a painting.

I could not help but laugh at him. "No, I imagine not."

"You are not angry?"

"Why would I? If you can sell my work, then I'll be happy to help." I smile at him. "It's the least I can do, after what you two did for me."

The boy sighs. I notice how he finally relaxes this time. "Then it is settled. I just need to find the materials."

I give him an affirmative nod. We continue the rest of our dinner in silence... until I could not hold it, that is.

"I was out late last night." I blurt, remembering my encounter with the priestess.

The boy nods. "I know. Old man stayed up waiting, I could not. You are already waking me up too early, I won't sleep late for you as well." He breaks a bread and chews a mouthful. "Why were you out anyway? Where did you go? You know it's not safe, right?"

"I know." And yet I was too stupid to stray that far. "I was on the other side, near the temples."

"Wha—"

" _Then_ I saw this red woman," I cut him off. I know he's going to scold me anyway.

"You mean a red priestess?"

I nod. "Safe to say she was. She grabbed my arm and said something I cannot decipher until now but part of it oddly made sense."

"Maybe it was a vision."

"Perhaps. She kept on speaking even after I walk away."

"What did she say?"

 _A lion shall inhale smoke as its last hope;_

 _a dragon shall lay beside an unwelcoming forest;_

 _a snake shall grant the sky no venom but life;_

 _and he will die by the hands of a freeman._

"I don't know... Something about a lion dying I think. A lost dragon? A snake who gives life and another one dying."

"That was a messed up vision." He shakes his head. "But it sounds like noble houses in Westeros."

"Houses?"

"Yes. Families in Westeros have their own sayings and sigils. A dragon, for example, is a sigil of House Targaryen. A three-headed dragon to be exact. As for the rest, I have no idea. You need to ask someone else."

So, a Targaryen will lay beside an unwelcoming forest. It still does not make any sense.

I shake my head. "How do you know all that?"

"What? The dragon? If you were _ever_ listening, I did mention the mother of dragons before—that person is Daenerys Targaryen."

He is right. I was not paying enough attention.

"Have I told you, you are too smart for your own age?"

"No, I am too smart for a slave." A smirk creeps on his face.

After a fulfilling dinner, we bid each other a good night. Not that I expect one, really. Words of the red priestess still haunt me. Dreams of Lexa still comes every night. Uneasiness gets worse after dinner. Something is bound to happen soon—whether I am prepared for it or not.

* * *

 **Day 35**

Being in Myr for over a month, I am now able to learn a word or two bastard Valyrian. I once greeted Old man Taga and he scoffed, leaning more into a positive kind than the opposite. Maybe I mispronounced the words and it meant totally different. In any case, I can say there is improvement. Besides that, I learned more about the rest of free cities of Essos. There's Braavos, where the Iron Bank and the assassin's guild called The Faceless Man are; Lorath; Norvos; Pentos, the closest city to Westeros; Qohor, known for Valyrian steel reforging smiths; Tyrosh; Lys, known for its pleasure houses; and Volantis.

Knowing these places, and that there's the rest of this world I do not know about yet, I cannot begin to think where I should go—if I should go, that is.

I need to figure this out soon.

A ruckus outside Old man's house interrupts my soliloquy. We seldom get passersby, let alone visitors, so it definitely is a surprise to hear someone else. I make my way to the door to find out what is it about but Old man Taga grabs my arm. He shakes his head slightly.

" _Wrong?_ " I take my chances with my limited bastard Valyrian vocabulary.

The old man whispers something, none of which I understand. He probably notices it, thus the finger over his lips, telling me to shut up. So I did. I could easily tell what is wrong if only I could understand all of them. Fuck it, I am learning their language as soon as possible.

Around thirty minutes pass since the sound of footsteps outside fade away, Jehari comes barging through the door. The way he gasps for air, it is safe to assume that he has been running. Old man Taga rushes to the room and starts yelling. ' _Stupid_ ', ' _slave_ ', ' _master_ ', and 'Lys' are few of the words I could decipher. They continue arguing until I could no longer stay silent.

"What is happening?" I ask Jehari.

Old man glares at his young apprentice before storming out of the room. Face palm, the boy shakes his head. He keeps pacing to and fro. "Nothing, it's just..." A sigh. "I am having troubles with some merchant."

"Was that you outside earlier?"

He sits on a wooden chair, his hands restless against his knees.

"Jehari, talk to me."

He swallows hard before finally speaking up.

"Remember when I said I took your painting to a merchant?" Still not looking at my direction. "I did that. But the man accused me of stealing it from another artist. I told him, I know someone who can make those paintings for less. He said he will think about it."

"When we met earlier, he had two sellswords with him. I got scared so I ran but they followed me anyway. He kept on asking where the painter is, said he wants to make business personally and not through some slave."

I half kneel near him. "Why didn't you let me talk to them? I could have negotiated something."

"You don't understand, _Kalark_. These people... when they see a slave, they see money. When they see a woman, they see a whore. That is how they do business." A sob escapes his lips. Once again, he puts his hands to his face. "Old man said we cannot protect you, us being poor and powerless. Once they see you, they will take you and sell you somewhere else—to Lys, to a Lord, take you for themselves as a wife, or just..."

A tears fall from his eyes. "I am sorry, _Kalark_. I did not mean for it to end this way." He looks up to me with pleading eyes. "I just thought you paint well."

Just when I believe I am holding up fine, reality hits me. Of course, people like them exist in this place. I am not on vacation. I am struggling to blend in this world that is not mine. Things can go wrong and they will.

My fight is not over.

"Listen," The apprentice wipes his nose. "You need to leave, now."

"No, Jehari, I can't just leave you and old man." I argue. "What do you think those people will do to you if they come back and you fail to present them a... painter?"

"I don't know. But you will leave anyway. It is no longer safe for you here." Jehari speaks as he pulls an old sling bag from a cabinet. He goes to the kitchen and fills the bag with a flask and bread. "You should head to Braavos, that's northeast from here, but you need to be careful because you will pass through Lys. Or you can go to Westeros."

"What about you and Old man Taga?" The apprentice hands me the bag. "Shouldn't we all go together? It's not safe for you either."

As I mention his name, the Old man appears out of his room. He walks over to me and places a pouch in my hand. It is small and yet not filled, only a few coins inside. Then I realize, this must be what they have left. And yet he is giving it to me. Overwhelmed, I could feel tears in my eyes.

"No," I push it back to him. "I cannot take it."

Old man faces me. " _Please_." He says. " _Good fortune_." My heart breaks a little upon hearing his words and understanding it. He turns on his back and enters his room before I could say anything more.

"Here." Jehari takes my arm and inserts a small dagger up my sleeve. "It should be small enough to conceal easily."

Not knowing what else to say, I pull him to an embrace. He stiffens and later relaxes. "Come, _Kalark_. Maybe the red priestess saw something good in your future."

The apprentice leads the way to the back door. From here, I can either walk downhill, aboard a ship that leaves for King's Landing or Dorne, or walk to the other side of the hill where I can find a ride to Braavos. It is not an easy decision to make especially since I have no idea what I lies ahead of me.

"This is where you part, _Kalark_. I wish you good fortune." He bids goodbye.

I gaze at him with teary eyes. I am beyond grateful to these people—that I will never forget.

"May we meet again."

* * *

After the fall of Mount Weather, I decided to leave Arkadia. I needed time and space to face the guilt of the burden I took upon myself. I wandered into the wild, lived in it, and became one with it. There was momentary peace yet danger was eminent. It was the wild after all. The point was, I managed. I made it through, for months, because I was determined to stay alive despite the reason I had for bailing. It was unclear for me why, at the time. But it felt like it was the right choice—to stay alive.

At this point, I am faced with a decision to take one of two paths with seemingly identical result—to be lost in the north or to be lost in the west. With a small bag of food and a pouch with a few Myrish coins, it is possible that I may reach either of the two destinations. There is no guarantee of its length nor its safety. I may end up as a slave somewhere else, or something worse.

But the question does not concern any of that, does it?

 _Follow your heart and you will not stray._

Her voice was calm and confident as if she was comforting me. Now that I think of it... Those were not words of goodbye. If it were, I would have felt it. I would have known. Every night, I hear her voice in my dream, saying the same words. A nightly farewell would be a cruel goodbye, wouldn't it? Not unless those weren't parting words, rather words of encouragement.

Lexa wants me to live on.

For we shall meet again.

I turn on my heel and pivot to the exact opposite direction of where I was headed to (which was nowhere, to be honest). If I am to make a decision, it would be what my heart truly desires. I cannot take an old man's savings or a young man's breakfast, knowing it can put them in utter misery. People often forget what kindness feels like. Who am I to stay as a stranger to that?

The sun nearly kiss the sea as I reach the top of the hill. There is a fear of the unknown, but for some reason I am as calm as can be. At the sight of old man's house, I then feel my heart skips a beat. So much for the calm before the storm. Hastily, I make my way to the backdoor.

You better not be late, Clarke.

" _You...die...great pain...boy_."

Shit.

I try to pull the door open but is unsuccessful. It is locked from inside. Even the windows to the kitchen are close.

" _...scare...all...lie_."

That is Jehari's voice. He speaks in between gasps of air. This definitely not good. Those men must be the sellswords who went after him earlier. Now they return to take what they were owed. Desperate to find a way in, I go around and find myself standing near the front door. But instead of barging in, I patiently knock on the door. I just hope it is not too late, yet.

No answer.

"Old man," I say. I lift my hand once more, preparing to knock again.

It turns out I do not need to, as the door opens slightly. One would normally run and ask for help in such situation, but I am no ordinary. And the decisions I make are that with severe consequences for myself—if not for a large number of population.

With a deep breath, I push the door and walk in.

"You told me—"

A man grabs me from behind and presses a knife against my jugular. " _Silence...throat_."

Well, I doubt he will cut my throat sometime sooner.

A man wearing an armor, most probably similar to the one holding me, has his sword across Jehari's neck. Old man is nowhere to be seen and that is not a pleasant information. Another man appears to my left, where I was previously blindsided. He appears to be one of those merchants in trade alley, only with better clothes—and worse intentions, I must say.

"Who might you be?" He asks as he moves closer.

As much as I want to break free and smash his skull, I could not. My eyes wander to the young apprentice who no longer struggles in his feat. He is too beaten to move.

"My name is Clarke." I turn to the man. "I am here to talk to old man and Jehari about the paintings."

He study me closely. "Painting, huh." Seemingly unconvinced, the man continues with his queries. "And where did you come from, _Klark_?" He has a different accent.

My eyes gaze to Jehari who weakly shakes his head. No, I don't think it is wise to be honest right now.

"Wouldn't you like to know? I came from where everything was considered art." I spat.

He chuckles. "That sounds like a perfect place. You have a very good imagination, girl."

"Try me, then. You are a businessman. You should know when something is worth a penny or not."

"Indeed." The man smirks. He moves even closer. "But you see, I do not make business arrangements with a slave, more so a whore." The back of his hand touches my face. "I sell them instead."

I struggle in my captor's hold upon hearing that word. The sellsword tightens his grip. "I am not a whore."

"Hm," The man ignores my words. "Pale skin, golden hair. Unfortunately, it is too dim to see the color of your eyes, but beautiful nonetheless. Wouldn't you say, Akhma?" He turns to the sellsword near Jehari.

"Feisty. I'd love me some tight cunt." He sneers.

My blood boils as I listen to their conversation. No wonder Jehari and old man wanted me to leave. This place surely is not the safest for a woman. Sadly, they got the wrong one.

The merchant chuckles. "Of course, as would hundreds of other men and women in all Seven Kingdoms. But this," He turns back to me. "...this one may trace its heritage back to old Valyria."

"Lysene?"

"Perhaps. What do you say, _Klark_? How did you escape Lys?" I glare at him and keep my mouth shut. "Ah, never mind. I will not take you back there. I have other client for you."

"S-she can paint… like no one else in whole Myr, I-I already told you that." Jehari speaks, blood drips from nose and lips. Without a word, Akhma hit him in the head with the back of his sword.

"No!" I scream. "Stop! Just... Just tell me what I have to do and leave him."

The merchant stares at old man's beaten apprentice, seeming pondering. "I suppose we can leave him out of this. That slave won't last long in his condition, especially with his master gone."

"W-wait, what?!" I grit my teeth and the man laughs in response.

 _"Let's go."_ The man instructs. I cough as the sellsword releases his grip, lowering his knife. Before I fully can recover, Akhma pulls a sack and place over my head. A hit to my stomach then everything goes into a blur.

* * *

The smell of salt is no longer strange for me. It is one of the many things I got used to during my stay in Myr. The sound of Seagulls flying around, of waves crashing against a ship… It is an experience similar to when we met Luna and her Boat people—except for actually feeling seasick.

Something hard hit my face and I groan. Opening my eyes does little good since a sack still covers my head. I can see through tiny holes on it but I am too nauseous to make sense of anything. My hands are bound behind me, so are my feet. My back rests against hard wood.

Where the hell am I?

The world seems to move and I stumble to the side. I think I haven't feel this much nauseated my whole life. I fight my urge to throw up. The last thing I want is to have vomit all over my face.

I hear the sound of wood creaking from nearby. By this time, I am certain I am on board a ship, sailing in the sea.

To where I am headed, I have no idea.

* * *

 **To be continued...**

* * *

 **A/N:** There's quite a number of OCs for the first few chapters since I am still trying to build the story. Familiar names will turn up soon!

The speeches in bastard Valyrian in this chapter are all incomplete since it's in Clarke's POV. It only makes sense that she can only understand a few words and not the whole sentences, thus the broken speeches. Who knows, maybe she will learn their language soon... or not.

 **For my strictly The 100-only viewers:**

The Known World of Game of Thrones has three continents namely: **Westeros** (in the West), **Essos** (in the East), and **Sothoryos** (Southeast of Essos). Slaver's Bay is at the southeast part of Essos.

 **Lord of Light** \- a god worshiped prominently in Essos

 **Many-faced god** \- a god worshiped in Braavos by the Faceless Men

 **The Seven** \- gods worshiped in Westeros

 **Common tongue** \- English language

 **Greenseer** \- has the ability to see prophetic visions

 **Sellsword** \- mercenary

 **High Valyrian** \- language of old Valyria and Valyrian freehold

Feel free to correct me if there's any mistake in the story or here at A/N. HMU at Tumblr ( **typographicalmisfit** ) or Twitter ( **amcaefghijk** ) for any inquiries, suggestions and whatnots.

Thank you for reading!


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